


Corrupted

by ricochetaddams



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-12-25 20:24:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricochetaddams/pseuds/ricochetaddams
Summary: "Crawl inside this body– find me where I am most ruined, love me there."- Rune Lazuli





	1. 1.

“Why do terrorist organizations pick the _worst_ locations for bases? We never have to go to Miami or San Diego. Nope. Instead, we're stuck on an island right along the equator, trekking through some jungle, during _monsoon season_!” Clint slugged behind the rest of the group, but everyone knew he was throwing his hands up in frustration; constantly tripping and cursing.

No, this wasn't an _ideal_ mission. No one was overcome with joy when they were handed the file, but this is their _jobs_ and it's really hard to not complain when the humidity is at 93%.

Even though the whole ground team was required (save for Tony and Bruce that were working from the compound and Thor and Vision that were off in Asgard), everyone expected a quick, and easy mission. There was barely any evidence besides some drone photos of what might be the perimeter of a base. Maybe. Steve knew it wasn't worth the risk, and since the forest was so overgrown who knows what or who they might stumble upon.

Steve rolled his eyes and pushed forward, knowing that they were drawing closer to the checkpoint. There were inhabitants on this island, one person specifically he knew from Shield. Romero, a former agent, gave them the tip of some suspicious activity and numerous reports of missing persons. Although it could be anything, an agent can sniff out terrorists like a dog sniffing out a bone.

Sam kept his gun pointed toward the ground, “I don't know man. The heat, I can handle, but anacondas and Chihuahua-sized tarantulas on the other hand; I could do without.”

“Not to mention the likeliness of malaria,” Nat swatted at yet another cloud of mosquitoes.

“I hope I see a sloth,” Wanda chimed.

Like a beacon of light in unforgiving darkness, Steve spots the checkpoint. A broken down military jeep, covered in vines, “Thank you, God” he whispered to himself, but of course, Bucky still heard him. Chuckling at the captain's agony, Bucky jogged forward and started looking for the opening among the vines and tree logs that would lead them to the village.

Bucky loved Central America. The sticky heat, the warm, tropical colors of it all. The sounds of the light rain hitting the leaves of the trees like he was under a large umbrella. The orchestra of different animals and insects among the brush. It was the complete opposite of the places he was sent with Hyrda and even though it was still a mission, Bucky was ecstatic with the change of pace. He missed Wakanda dearly, so being somewhere _almost_ like it was enough to ease his longing. It was also nice to get out of the compound, this being his first mission since his return. Steve was incredibly reluctant to allow him on the field so soon. But, with Shuri's approval, he decided to give his friend a chance of redemption.

There's a large wooden gate when he moves more vines and he begins knocking, trying to get someone to open up before his whiny coworkers catch up to him. Two knocks sound back to him.

“Agent Romero.”

The gate is pushed open long enough for the group to be ushered in. Romero greets his old coworkers with a smile and a handshake and although he is happy to see them, he wishes they didn't have to be there. When he returned to his childhood grounds, he never expected the constant threats the loomed over the secluded village.

Bucky would never have guessed that on the other side of the gate there would be an entire colony. Sure he knew the island was inhabited, but not by roughly two hundred people. There were entire booths filled with fruits and vegetables and people young and old carrying buckets of water from the river to what he guessed was a water purifier. Kids were kicking soccer balls along the path and old men were playing music in front of their homes. It was so peaceful, so balanced.

“So much for the early retirement, huh, Romero?” Clint slaps the man on the back while Romero shrugs and sighs.

“It's not all that it's cracked up to be, anyway. You guys look like shit,” He grins, noting the mud that's halfway up all of their calves.

“Well, you know, an eight-hour trek through the foreboding jungle really brings out the best in us,” Nat scoffed, “Now, where can I shower?”

“Here, let me show you guys in.” He gestures to a more modern bungalow among the surrounding homes.

“A _whole_ hut to yourself, Romero? Talk about moving on up!” Sam sassed as he kicked off his muddy boots.

“You should be glad, or else I wouldn't have enough room for this entire band of misfits.”

Steve planted a hand on the former agent's shoulder, “Thanks, buddy. For the tip and the place to stay, I really appreciate it. It beats sleeping it wet mud, right team?”

They all tiredly grumbled as they set up their sleeping bags throughout the living room, while Bucky stared out the window, not being able to tear his eyes away from the villagers. The sun dipped lower in the sky, mother's were collecting their children and the guitars slowly stopped strumming and the bugs chirped in their place. God, he missed Wakanda.

“Showers down the hall, to your left. There's only one nozzle and it pours cold. Towels are in the linen closet, there's arroz con pollo in the kitchen. Mi casa es su casa for the night.”

And with that the team disbanded in different directions, some heading for the showers, other the kitchen. Bucky takes a seat by the window, letting the familiar sounds lull him into a sense of calm. Romero pulls up a seat next to him, “Couldn't get the arm past customs, huh?”

“I can still hold my own with one arm, y'know?” Bucky smirks as his former co-worker's chuckles and shakes his head, “I didn't want to freak anyone out and I've been training more without it. I'm lighter on my feet than before. Plus, who's gonna give an amputee a hard time?”

“Yeah, you got a point there. I'm glad you're back to feeling like your old self, amigo. You look good, still kinda crazy, but good.”

They both laugh, “Thanks, bud.” Sam hands Bucky a plate and they both groan at the delicious home-cooked, carb-loaded, spoonfuls they shoveled into their mouths.

“Good Lord, Rom, had I known you could cook like this I would've never let you leave the compound.” Natasha moaned into her bowl and the olive-skin man shook his head, enjoying being around his teammates for what he hopes will be the last time. Twelve hours until sun up and he feels as anxious as ever.

He hopes he's wrong. He hopes it's just a couple of low-life drug smugglers or maybe some weapons dealer. Not Hydra, not his home, but the odds don't seem to be in his favor. He knows this jungle, better than most people. He knows the superstitions and legends that have grown with the lands like vines over tree trunks. He knows that there's more to this island than he will ever understand, but he hopes that whatever once protected it, will make it's appearance again.

“Okay, Romero,” Steve announces once everyone is fed and bathed. He opens his file and gives the floor to the so-called retired agent, “What are we looking at here?”

Romero sighs, his sadness evident in his posture. God, he wanted to be done with this work, “There are only about two hundred people in our village, let alone on this island, so when people go missing; everyone is bound to notice. There have been about fifteen instances of missing persons this year alone, which might not seem like a lot to you, but to us it's huge. The last time there was an increase in disappearances was in the 40s,” He stopped and eyed the super soldiers hoping they would understand where he was getting at without having to spell it out.

“I've been going out on the search parties and sometimes we find them, mostly men ages 25-40 and women 15-25. All _appearing_ to have died of natural causes, but there is no labs here, no coroners, and no way for an actual cause of death to be determined.”

“What makes you think it's Hydra related?” Steve asked, noticing the slump in Romero's shoulder, the absolute travesty in his eyes.

“On one of the search parties, I noticed a perimeter. I couldn't _see_ past it. It looked like more jungle brush, but I could hear the faint buzzing, I could feel the electricity in the air. We've seen it before back when I was still working, but I don't think anyone in this village has access to that kind of technology to make a fucking force field around a base. I told the men I was with to head back, while I attempted to infiltrate. I couldn't find a way _in_ , and I spent hours, _hours_ trying but I didn't even have a gun on me. That's when I went back and started questioning everyone, they kept giving me the same answer.

“The village elders especially believe it's the same thing that caused our community to become fenced in. They think it's the same thing that came one day in the 40s, with machines and weapons.”

He stopped to let the team take in this information before he started with the incredibly weird and unbelievable path he was about to go on.

Steve furrowed his eyebrow, “What are you saying, Romero?”

“Like any human that has walked this earth, this island has a heart and a pulse–”

  
  


 

 

 

 


	2. 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a story too hard to believe.

_When I was young, there were stories that our village leader used to sing to us when we were gathered for ceremonies. Weddings, birthdays, funerals, we always heard the same one._

_The first being to ever walk this island was a shaman, a healer, a woman. Her skin was made of the rich sand tucked away by the beach current, her hair was white like the clouds that hid us from all, and her eyes were as brown as the rich soil that sprouted our green. She shaped the mountains and gave breath to the wind. She protected the island and with it, she protected what would become the tribe you see today. She named the island Marvella and in turn we named her La Madre, mother to the island and of us all._

_World War Two, when the men in black gear landed on our pristine beaches, polluting our air with their machinery. Forcing us into hiding and if we didn't escape fast enough; they captured us. What was once laughter and song turned to an overture of screams and cries._

_The land was being mowed over to make room for labs and prisons. Our people were being dragged into these alien-like buildings and they never came back out. Harsh bolts of light could be seen. Maniacal laughter from these terrorists was all that could be heard. They had no respect for the land, not knowing what we had known for centuries_

_The skies turned black with La Madre's rage, the trees were dying from the shed blood of her children sinking into the earth, waves unforgivably crashed into the shore, the jungle stopped breathing because a sacred oath at been broken._

_No war. Only peace. Only kindness. Only love._

_She sent her most trusted daughters, Las Siete Hermanas, to end it once and for all. The Seven Sisters were a formation of warriors and like their mother, swore to conserve, never destroy. But the choice had been made and like a clap of thunder, the earth shifted below our feet and roared. The air crackled and stilled. The jungle became as silent as the morning La Madre stepped foot on Marvella._

_All was calm once more._

_Everything returned to normal as if the intruders were never there. Seemingly overnight the tree's grew back their gentle leaves, the smog from the labs and boats had cleared and our skies were blue once more, but the air had shifted. The buildings remained but any evidence of the men that came at night was gone._

_Legend tells that the sisters slaughtered the followers of the red skull, but not without consequence. As mystic and metaphysical as they were, they had taken damage. Having not been prepared for the technology that advanced them._

_La Madre and her daughters were no longer._

_The magic was gone._

_They disappeared with the Nazi's and although our island was in an unaltered state, the mythos had weakened._

_Since then, the monsoons are heavy and revengeful, like the rain will purify our isle of the tragedy it's endured. The overgrowth of our plants are relentless without La Madre to calm them or it's trauma. The ocean is darker, said to be nothing but a pool of Las Hermanas tears as they were separated in battle. Our fisherman said they can still hear their call to song, albeit distant, they are relentless in trying to find each other, but without their mother, it will be impossible._

_The family of healers had been corrupted and without magic, they will never be together again._

_We stayed._

_We had to do our best to preserve, we owed that to our saviors. With that, the fence was built to protect us and ensure we would never, ever be taken again._

_We still don't know how the Nazis found us, maybe someone on the mainland told them in exchange for safety or gold. No one will ever know why the men in black gear came. We never knew what happened to those of us that went missing. We will never have the closure that we and La Madre deserve._

 

 

The six teammates sat in silence as they watched Romero push his dark locks back. He shifted in his seat and wanted to laugh at the uncomfortable silence. Of course, they wouldn't believe him, but he was hoping they would. After all they've been through, _especially_ with aliens, sentient robots and other-worldly Gods he hoped they would at least consider it.

“I know what you're thinking, I never believed it either. For a really long time, I didn't believe it, but then I started investigating these claims of the mother and the sisters and – _fuck_ – if you guys could _see_ the amount of evidence of some type of magical civilization you wouldn't be looking at me like I'm insane.”

“So... you _don't_ have any evidence of a magical civilization?” Nat tried not to sound like a bitch, she really did, but given the circumstances, it was really hard not to.

“Anytime I tried to take a picture it would be completely distorted and whenever I would bring something back here, it's nowhere to be seen the next day. I have no other way to prove this to you, other than to show you, but right now we have a much bigger issue at hand.”

“And what exactly does Hydra possibly being on this island have to do with the bedtime story you just told us?” Clint yawned, wanting to just get to sleep instead of listening to these rambles.

“I think Hydra captured the sisters in return for the safety of this island.”

“Okay, now you've completely lost me,” Sam shakes his head, “Hydra is a very real thing. A family of healers on the other hand– ”

“Listen to me!” Romero stood, his chair sliding harshly behind him, “People are missing. There's something in the woods. The Nazi's may have left but Hydra is still here and you and I both know that they don't have any way of shielding an _entire_ compound with some type of invisible force! Barnes– have you ever seen it? In those seventy years, have you ever been in an invisible compound? This isn't Wakandan technology, man. You can't expect that much from Hydra.”

Bucky sighed, trying to shuffle his memories of those horrible times, but not one as ridiculous as his claims come up. He shook his head.

“See! I'm telling you it's Hydra and whether you believe in magic or not, there is something strange going on here, bigger than science. If Thor was here he would have my fucking back, man.”

Steve put his hands up in defeat, “We'll still check it out. We're all tired and worried. A good night's sleep will help. We head out at dawn. Romero, try to relax. I know it's hard. I know this is your home, but right now we just need to rest.”

Romero begrudgingly agreed, stocking off down the hall and slamming his door shut. The team exchanged nervous glances, not knowing what to think or say, “Alright, team. Lights out. We head out at 0600.”

Bucky laid his head down and felt a tug at his chest. No matter how ridiculous it was, he felt like he had no other choice but to believe Romero. He's seen crazy, he's been crazy, and Romero _isn't._ Upset, sure. Scared, definitely. But not crazy. Since he's escaped Hydra, he's seen some unbelievable stuff. Between literally any of Tony's projects, to Thor and his hammer, to Bruce turning into a giant, green behemoth; a magic civilization of healers seemed pretty tame. Especially on an island like Marvella.

He felt something different here, something he never felt in Wakanda. Seeing the village, he had a hard time believing the magic was gone. He's felt it since he arrived. The story, however, had made him feel not only magic but something heavier.

Something sinister.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meet our latina!ofc in the next chapter! Thanks for the kudos! Feel free to leave any comments or any advice you have! Te quiero mucho <3


	3. 3.

The ground had dried significantly since the day before and everyone could not be more thankful that they didn't have to spend another day pulling their legs through heavy mud.

Romero leads the team, machete in one hand, compass in another as Steve strode by his side. Bucky lingered towards the back of the group, trying to convince himself he was covering their tails with his keen hearing, in reality, he couldn't find a spot where he _fits_. As he looked ahead of him it was like everyone had a pair, which they were having their own conversations about 21st-century things he was still kind of unfamiliar with. They all had a place and Bucky wasn't sure where he belonged.

When he had returned from Wakanda, it took a few weeks for everyone to warm up. Sam tried his best to get along with him, per Steve's request, but it was too easy to pick on the broody Bucky. Nat and Clint were quick to follow suit with the teasing. Wanda, Vision, and Thor were just a little too intense for him; with their constant Shakespearean conversations, he had a hard time keeping up what they were talking about.

Then there was Tony.

Bucky doesn't like to think about Tony.

Eventually, the compound became livable. He had figured out exactly how to talk with each one of the team members. He got comfortable enough to banter back with Sam and the others. He started understanding what Thor and Vision were trying to say with their long, droning explanations. Wanda would pour his morning coffee and leave the sugar lid off for him and Bruce was more than happy to hold on to Bucky's new arm for him while he was away.

The compound wasn't always _ideal_ , but it was balanced and it worked for him.

Nat, ever the ballerina, twirled around to look at him, while gracefully shuffling backward. It takes him a moment to snap out of his deep thought and realize she was trying to get his attention.

“So, what do you think?” She smirked, “Hydra or magical little creatures?”

Bucky couldn't help but chuckle at her, “I don't know, Romanoff, but I'm guessing you do?”

“Faulty tech. That or Romero is so desperate for action he's convoluted this in his head to live out some childhood mystery. Retirement is boring as hell.” She shrugged.

“That's not very nice, Nat,” Wanda scolded, keeping her eyes on the trees, hoping to catch a peek at her favorite animal, “I think this place is absolutely amazing. I would love to come back when we aren't on duty. Those little tree frogs are so damn cute.”

“They're deadly poisonous, Wan,” Clint argued dully, “Literally everything in this jungle could kill us within seconds.”

“That's why we have Romero as our guide! I'm going to come back and visit him if this all goes according to plan.”

Nat rolled her eyes for what must have been the hundredth time that day, “It will go as planned because there is _no such thing_ as magical sist–”

A quiet rustling in the wood made everyone halt and ready their weapons in different directions

They held still for minutes, trying to listen for anything; focusing their eyes to the dark jungle surrounding them. It could have been hundreds of thousands of things. Steve preened his ears a little longer before clearing the situation.

Romero slipped out of his fighting stance and looked down at his compass. The red arrow spun wildly, bouncing from east to west as it lost all sense of direction, “We must be getting close,” He handed the malfunctioned compass to Steve, “We stay south. Not much further now.”

Steve poked at the glass, but the more he messed with it the faster the arrow spun. A cold chill licked up his spine as he placed it in his pocket, deciding to keep this private until further notice.

_Must be all the rocks, or a powerful magnet near._ Steve repeated to himself, trying to ignore how heavy the compass felt in his pocket. How cold it felt through his suit.

Bucky felt unsettled, wishing Sam never talked him into watching the Blair Witch Project a few nights before the mission. He never wanted it to so badly be Hydra.

Hydra was human and he could fight human. Whatever was causing his stomach to tighten uncomfortably, he wasn't sure he could take. His pulse throbbed quickly as his super soldier senses were quickly overloaded. There are too many hiding places, threats lurking as they hid discreetly, watching them all tread deeper and deeper into the jungle. His body begins to tense and his breathing loses its evenness, but it's not only his intuition that is telling him there's something wrong. He swears he can hear something whisper in his ear.

_You're not supposed to be here_.

Another sharp _woosh_ from behind and Bucky's blade is ready to penetrate anything within arms reach, his lone palm dripping in sweat along the grip.

Clint aimed his arrow towards the thick leaves that coated the tops of the trees, “That wasn't no fuckin' bird. Romero, what the hell is going on?!” He called to the front of the group as quietly as he could.

“You're in la selva profunda, now ladies. We're getting closer to where the family once lived, which means we're closer to the base. This is the deep jungle, you'll hear more wildlife as this has been uninhabited for so long. Be ready for any type of attack. That includes jaguars. I wouldn't worry about them too much though. They tend to keep their distance, especially with groups. Legends say the still honor La Madre's commands.”

Bucky could hear multiple gulps from the group as they continued on.

Jaguars, he could take a jaguar. Hopefully. He kept his knife close to his side, his guns were holstered on various parts of him. Everything was fine, this was fine. He could handle it. Hell, he helped herd rhinos from time to time, which must be equally, if not more, dangerous than a jaguar.

They marched forward for another half hour without any more disturbances before Wanda announced for everyone to stop. Her palms outstretched in front of her, grasping at thin air.

“Do you feel that?” The red gleam formed along her fingers as she stepped forward.

Romero knew where they were, but he didn't say anything because he hoped – _god, he hoped_ – that someone would sense it too. This strong, heavy energy was so dense he was surprised no one said anything sooner.

The hair on Bucky's arm stood on end.

Like a ripple in a current, what once looked like tall trees turned into a globe of effervescent white light; as if a giant snow globe had been dropped right in front of them. The white waves mingled with Wanda's red energy, swirling into pink sparks and bolts as the force field slowly disintegrated.

The giant bubble disappeared and in its place, a mysterious threatening building stood completely out of place among the scenery.

Bucky had seen ones like this before and he was all too familiar with the inner workings of them. He was never sent to Central America in all his time as The Winter Soldier, at least he was almost certain, but he recalls being told of bases there. His handlers would whisper, about what he wasn't sure, but it was never anything positive.

When the rest of the team moved forward, his feet refused to step any closer. This was too familiar. The dark off-white bricks haphazardly stacked on each other, like a shaky house of cards. The windows were nothing more than rusty bars. Even the weeds that grew up the walls were shriveled and dry.

If death ever had a home: he was staring directly at it.

_Run, run, run._

He shook the thoughts away, but his body betrayed him.

“Ha! I told you! I fuckin' told you!” Romero started jumping, not being able to hold in his gloating laughter much more. Deep down he knew he should be terrified of the horrors that were left to be discovered, but he was _right._ Knowing he was a step closer to solving this mystery, he couldn't contain himself.

Steve shook his head in disbelief, almost disappointment. He didn't want Romero to be right, and he still might not be, but the odds weren't looking to be in their favor.

Scanning the rest of the group, his eyes paused on his lifelong friend. His face turned drastically pale and he could see the slight tremor in his hand as he white-knuckled the grip of his machete. Steve was at his side within seconds, placing on hand on top of Buckys' and another on his shoulder. Ready to restrain him if necessary. Steve called his name a few times before he finally blinked away whatever nightmares he was reliving.

Everyone exhaled, a calm washing over them, Steve squeezed Bucky's shoulder, “How about you stay out here, keep watch with Clint, while we go scope the place out? I don't think you should go in there. Is that okay, pal?”

Bucky's brain was shouting at him to argue. To prove that he was capable of handling this, that he isn't having any flashbacks or phantom pains. That he is strong enough to go in there. That he's not broken anymore.

But, then he'd be lying.

He could lie to himself all he wanted but, there was no way in hell he could ever lie to Steve. Not after everything.

Bucky nodded his head, trying to collect himself, his voice rough and wobbly, “Yeah... yeah. You're right. Barton, I'll take the North side of the building.”

“Everyone,” Steve called sternly, “Coms on. Let's move in.”

Maybe Steve was right with trying to convince him to stay behind.

But he couldn't. He needed to make things right, and God knows he wasn't ready to be in the same building with Tony without Steve there. Steve could tell him as much as he wanted that all was forgiven, it didn't matter. Therapy, brainwashing, reprogramming, whatever you want to call it. Bucky still couldn't forgive himself, no amount of acceptance from anyone was going to fix that.

_Focus, idiot._

Bucky scanned the green around him, trying to pinpoint where he felt eyes on him earlier. More than one set. He felt watched all over, but there was nothing suspicious around at all. No abnormal noises, no peculiar sighting. He checked in with Clint and got the same report. He could hear the team on the inside shout 'clear!', he could hear monkey's swing from tree to tree, bird calls from way up, and footsteps marching towar–

Bucky spun on his heel, knife wielded in front of him,

But there was nothing there.

Nothing. He could have sworn–no, he knew he heard footsteps. He distinctly heard the snap of dry earth and twigs beneath boots right behind him. He scanned the jungle again, but nothing was out of the ordinary.

Damn, Sam. He's never letting him pick out a movie ever again.

“Oh my god,” He heard over his intercom, “What is that smell?” It was Sam's voice, he could practically hear him gagging through the static.

“What is it?” Clint asked heatedly.

“There's something rotting in room seven. Never smelt anything like it.” Rom reported, his voice was muffled, he must have covered his nose and mouth, “It's in the middle of the floor, and it's– sizzling? Dios mio, what the hell is that?”

“What is that noise?” Sam choked out, “Is–is it fucking groaning?”

“Wilson, Romero, do not approach, wait for back up, we're on our way.” Steve practically shouted as he stormed through the building.

Bucky cursed to himself as he couldn't abandon his post, but he regretted not going in. Guilt rose like steam through him, his head spinning with endless possibilities. What if he could identify the object? What if he knew what was causing it? What if–

Another sharp snap, but this time quicker and rougher.

Bucky spun once more, but this time there was no green to greet him. Only complete black and painful, heavy sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, soooo I know I said that you would meet our latina!OFC in this chapter, but as you can see: I lied. I already have some chapters typed out so I THOUGHT she was introduced in this one, but I was a chapter ahead. Anyways! Stay tuned to see what the hell happened to Bucky and to ACTUALLY meet our girl! Buenas Noches!


	4. 4.

_Blink._

He's being dragged, dragged, dragged deeper and deeper into a hallway, further and further away from the warm light that so gently embraced him all but a moment ago. Steve... is Steve bringing him into the building? Did he pass out at his post? Why does his grip _hurt_ so much? Why does his mouth feel like it's stuffed with cotton? Why is no one answering him?

_Blink._

He's on a slab, it's cold and metallic and familiar. He wants to thrash and scream as the foggy, faceless figures move around him; removing his weapons, his ammo, his earpiece and now they're examining his left shoulder. He tries his hardest to move but he's never felt anything heavier than his own weight. Black eyes are trained on him, a syringe in hand. Bucky has felt this horror before. He's never forgotten it. It haunts him in his sleep.

_Blink._

Bile. It rises from the pit of his stomach and sits at the bottom of his throat. He can't breathe. Curling to his side, he opens his mouth and thinks the vomiting will never end. He coughs, heaves, and gags but it won't stop. He hasn't felt this cold since the first day he was stuck in the cryo-chamber and he can't help but think, _Am I dying?_

After what feels like hours, the volcano of puke ceases. The shivers calm, and the room isn't spinning as fast.

_The room? Wasn't I just outside?_

“Steve...” He wheezes, searching for the dark blue suit, but it's nowhere to be seen. Then he hunts for a shade of red, whether it be goggles, hair, or hands. He comes up short once again. A threatening realization looms over him: the team isn't here.

But he's not alone. He can feel it.

He decides not to move again until he has a thorough understanding of exactly where the _fuck_ he is.

The ground is bumpy and solid, concrete. So are the four walls surrounding him, only they are slightly green from what can only be moss or other foliage. There is one door that he assumes leads out. One rusty, metal toilet with a complimentary rusty, metal sink. One sorry excuse for a window, it's small and barred, but there's no glass and he knows he could fit _if_ he can break through the bars. There's something blocking the path to it, underneath, on the floor.

He doesn't know _why_ , well, he doesn't really know anything right now, but he is terrified to look directly at the small, shadowy shape. He tells himself that he is just waiting for his eyes to adjust so he could have a clearer visual.

_Come on, pussy. What's the worst it could be? Hydra? We both know this ain't them. They woulda had their way with you by now, kept you conscience just to gloat. Best case scenario? Maybe it's a hungry jaguar, maybe a witch that eats super soldiers. Or maybe a–_

Girl?

He must be concussed. Or delusional from whatever drug they pumped in him. He shakes his head and blinks a couple more times only to see a pair of dark, sunken in eyes watching him lazily; as if he's a fly stuck in between a window frame and glass, bouncing helplessly. Other than her rather sleepy expression, she is void of any emotion. Her knees are pulled up to her chest, her head resting on her knee caps, and her arms wrap around her legs. She watches him for a few more moments, before turning her head away, like she's bored that he's no longer gasping helplessly like a fish out of water.

He moves to get up a little too fast, more bile threatens to come up, but once he balances himself on his knees and finds his center a gravity; his body finally, _finally_ calms. He watches her the whole time, noting how her body tenses slightly from the noise of him scuffling around like an idiot while trying to find his bearings.

The sun is still out, a striped shadow shines down into the cell. He hears the wind shaking the trees and by the smell of the wet earth: he is 99% sure he's still in Marvella. He doesn't know how long he's been out, but judging on how dry his throat is it's been at least a day.

As pointless as it is he tries for the door. There's no handle, logically since this is _most likely_ a prison cell. He pushes against the door with the right side of his body, but it doesn't budge or even creak under the pressure. He looks down at where his vibranium arm _should_ be and sighs.

_No, I don't need it. This mission will be a slice of cake. I don't want to freak anyone out with it anyways._

He scoffs at himself as he searches for any weak spots along the walls. Of course, there's nothing. Then his eye's lock on the tiny window that's at least seven feet high. He clears his throat, trying to move the fog in his brain and remember _any_ Spanish that might linger. He knows the basics, but actual, conversational Spanish is completely wiped.

_Thanks, Shuri._

She told him that some things might go away with the horrors of the memories, including most of the languages and other Hydra 'necessities' he became so familiar with. Not that he's ungrateful, but some of those assassin skills could really, really come in handy right now.

“Uh...disculpe, señora,” He winces at how _bad_ it sounds but it's right. He stares at the back at her head for minutes. She doesn't even attempt to acknowledge him. He tries to convince himself that he's not above physically picking her up and moving her out of the way, but he really doesn't want to. Touching is still... _touchy_.

He moves closer, trying to sound as 'Captain-Americany' as possible. Stern, respectful and in Bucky's opinion: super dorky, “Señora?”

His hand barely skims her bare shoulder and something flips.

Well, everything flips.

She's on top of him, her legs on either side of his waist. Her small but strong hands have a firm grip around his scruffy throat and one of her sharp, bony knees are digging unforgivably into his rib-cage. He grabs a hold of her wrist with the same amount of pressure that she has around his airway, but she's harder to move than she looks. He tries to push her off, wiggle out of her grip, he even tries to flip them. She doesn't budge and her features slip from sleepy to bored.

After a pathetic sigh leaves his lips, her hands loosen it's grasping ever so slightly–

This is her warning.

He takes this time to get a good look at her. She's older than he originally assumed but still young, in her mid to late twenties. Although she is thin right now, he thinks she used to be bulkier considering her frame and strength. Her eyes are a deep, rich brown but the purple rings around them made them look practically black. Her skin is pale, but still holds a hue of honey. She has waist length, dark hair that falls around him like a wavy stage show curtain

God, he wants to throw her off of him, but his empathy slaps him hard across the face with the fleeting thought. He feels so bad for her. Who knows how long she's been here? Her face is stoic, but those ebony eyes are filled with so much suffering. He's seen that exact same stare whenever he caught the winter soldier staring back at him in the mirror.

“Okay,” He rasps, letting go of her wrist gently, “I get it, no touching,” Opening his palms as a sign of surrender. She gives him one more ominous look before sliding off of him and back to her original spot against the wall.

He coughs in relief as he stands, rubbing his still warm throat. He surveys the room again before his eyes land back on her.

“Do you know where we are?” He asks, getting nothing back in response. She's gone back to ignoring him. He grunts and tries again, “Donde esta?”

Silence. Wonderful.

“Thanks for the help,” he grumbles, backing up slightly to give himself some running distance, not caring if she's in the way. He gives it one good jump and his hand wraps around one of the window bars. He plants his feet and heaves with all his power. Which, might he add, would be _a lot easier with TWO ARMS_. He curses at himself, promising to never part with his appendage ever again. Grinding his teeth, he tries for one more good yank, only to have his foot slip on the mossy wall and he plummets seven feet down.

He lands flat on his back with a few curses and that's when he hears the huff. He looks up at the girl, expecting a face of mockery; but her eyes aren't cast on him. They're staring straight ahead at the door. Her arms tighten around herself and Bucky follows her gaze.

Two men he doesn't recognize have now joined them, glaring down at Bucky as they chuckle at his attempted escape. He moves to stand, but two large guns are swiftly pulled out from behind them. While one is focused on him, the other has his eyes trained on the girl.

“Barnes, right?” The dirty blond with rough features and a gold front tooth, smirks at him, “Gonna tell me what you and your friends were doin out here? How'd ya even find this place? It's in a pretty good hidin spot.”

Trying not to roll his eyes at the southern drawl, he decides that the only way to keep him, his team, and his new cellmate safe is to cooperate. No matter how much he wants to tear that tooth out with his bare hand.

“Following up on claims of suspicious activity in the area.” He deadpans.

“And that's your problem how?” The other, buffer and brunet, snarks, “Didn't think The Avengers had any business down here.”

“I just go where I'm sent and follow the orders. I don't know anything else and definitely don't know why we're here,” He half-lied. He really didn't know what was going on, but he wasn't about to let these two assholes know that, “But I'm guessing it has something to do with you two.”

The two men exchanged a knowing look before chuckling while lowering their weapons. The blond crouched down to his level while the other shut the door. The blond started, “I guess it's time for a little introduction. How 'bout you call me Rowdy...” He points to his partner that hasn't shifted his focus from the girl, despite her reluctant, deadly stare, “And he's Ransom.”

Bucky purses his lips together for a moment when he see's 'Rowdy' trying his best to intimidate him. Rowdy and Ransom? What were these guys playing at? Was this a game of cops and robbers?

“Oh– oh I'm not going to call you that,” Bucky bites his cheek, trying to stifle a sarcastic laugh, “How about Beavis and Butthead? Orrrr Chips?”

Rowdy takes the stock of his rifle and hits Bucky square in the middle of his forehead, making the super soldier reel back. The girl jerks herself forward, only to have a nozzle pushed onto her temple.

“Watch it, niña, you know how this works,” Ransom snarled as she slowly presses her back against the wall once more and closes her eyes.

“Buddy, you don't wanna fuck with us. You really don't. You could ask her– oh wait– you can't.” Rowdy slowly and dangerously stalked toward the girl. At the sound of his boots shuffling against the uneven floor, her eyes shoot open, her breathing escalating through flared nostrils and she tightens her full lips.

Her reluctance only seems to edge Rowdy on more. He squats next to her and cups her round cheeks with such force, Bucky swears he could hear her teeth clatter, “Now don't be rude to our guest, Lil' one, ya know how I get when you piss me off. Or do I need to teach you another lesson about manners? Open up, sweet cheeks,”

  
Her eyebrows pinched together and with a defeated sigh, she exposes her blistered tongue. Bucky can't look at it for more than a second, not while tears threaten to spill from her big eyes.

He knew this torture. All too well.

He held it together for twenty years, no matter how many times they abused him, he willed himself to fight back. Unfortunately, there's only so much a person can take. Mentally and physically. Regardless of how much serum they pump into them. He used to scream for days. Begging for someone to help him. Threatening to kill every last agent there. Sobbing for everything he had lost. Until they brought in a hot iron and restraints. Bucky can recognize an iron print on the tongue when he sees it. His mouth still remembered the texture of his charred, swollen tongue trying to rest in his mouth.

As much as he wanted to attack, beat their skulls in until brain matter covered the room, he remained still. Not knowing what was on the other side of that door or what to do once he escaped kept him rational. Rowdy could sense the unease in Bucky's stature, and the two men shine with the pride of making themselves understood. With the dominance in the room shifted, Rowdy gestures at his partner to leave, but not without making one last statement.

“Feel free to make yourself at home, Sargent, you got plenty of time to get cozy.”

With a wink sent to the girl, Rowdy slammed the door shut behind him.

This time Bucky embraced the silence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around to (kinda) meet her! There is still so much to discover, just wait and see! Thank you for the kudos and the sweet comment! They are so appreciated! Que tenga un bien dia! <3


	5. 5.

Sun down followed all too quickly.

Bucky didn't want to cause any more disturbances that could bring those men back. So, he stayed quiet, not moving from the middle of the floor for hours. He preened his hearing, trying to focus on any other sound than the soft breathing from his cellmate.

He didn't know how to comfort her. Or if she even needed it.

Hell, he didn't know how to comfort anyone.

Sam bugged him to death to go down to the VFW with him, telling Bucky that it's therapeutic to share experiences with other veterans; that no one will understand better than fellow comrades. After the constant badgering, he caved and joined Sam. The club was split into two portions. One half was the group therapy for veterans suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and the other half was a dark-lit bar with every alcohol imaginable and pictures of fallen members along the walls.

There was absolutely nothing comforting about reliving old war stories or showing jagged battle scars. It just made him reel backward. Yes, he understood that all soldiers come out broken from war. That was part of the game. But seeing the crooked, old men clad in their “I fought in World War 2” caps just destroyed him. It was too much. He was supposed to be one of those rickety, wrinkly men.

Actually, there was no 'supposed to' about it. Bucky should've died when he fell despite Steve's constant nagging of how “everything happens for a reason”.

He could go on and on about Hydra, their experiments and the torture, but the nightmare he relived the most was that dreadfully long fall. Steve's hand too far away, a blanket of white snow, and then black. He wasn't lucky enough for it to be death.

Falling from that train was hell and Hydra was damnation.

Bucky didn't want to share his experiences, there was nothing _encouraging_ about what he'd been through. Nothing to sit back and laugh at and definitely nothing _good_ he learned from it. He never wanted to be a soldier, he never wanted to go to the VFW and Bucky can't help but think that the rest of his life will consist of him doing whatever people want from him.

No, there wasn't a single, damn thing comforting about the VFW.

But seeing this poor woman in this muggy cell gave him something he didn't know how to put in words. Maybe it was retribution?

He _wants_ to help her. He wants her to speak to him, to tell him everything he needs to do so he can get her the hell out of there. That maybe if he can save her, it'll count towards everything.

The only soothing thought that crossed his mind was that the team would be here sooner or later and all Bucky had to do was wait it out, keep his head straight, and protect her. He can't comfort her, but he can make sure that when The Avengers find him, they take care of her too. When he gets her out of there, he's going to give her everything she needs so she never has to worry about being imprisoned again.

A breathy yawn pulls him out of his deep thoughts, his slate blue eyes flicking up in her direction. Moonlight reflects off her damp skin as she cranes her head back to stretch, unfolding herself carefully. She slides forward and curves her back like a sleepy cat before hopping to her feet, stretching her arms high above her head.

She's like a monarch butterfly emerging from her cocoon and Bucky is completely floored. She shines from the sweat slick on her skin and her bare toes curl as she yawns again. Her round eyes land on Buckys' and suddenly his combat boots are the most interesting thing in the world.

_Snap out of it, idiot. She's a prisoner and she's not for you to gawk at._

She steps around him and as if on cue, a slot on the bottom of the door is flipped open, a tray is slid in and it snaps shut. A flickering fluorescent light switches on, causing both of them to groan at the bright intrusion.

Bucky, still focused on mud coating the front of his boots, barely registers the tray being set in front of him. Blinking at the pitiful dinner, he dares to glance up at the girl. A fluorescent halo hovers around her head, he knows he's not dead, but she might actually be an angel.

_Okay, charmer, calm down_.

He can hear the man he was in the 40s monologuing somewhere in the back of his brain and Bucky pushes it back even further. He looks between the tray and her again as she sits cross-legged at her spot.

Since he was new to the neighborhood, he waited for her to make the first move and he was certain she was waiting for him to do the same. His stomach rattled his insides, begging him to inhale everything in front of him. She cocked an eyebrow, her fingers taping the ground at her sides. Is she so bored that watching him eat was her only source of entertainment? Next to his attempt to break out of course.

With the softest voice he could manage, he began to speak,“I–uh, don't think you should eat the orange, with your mouth and all,” He paused, watching her posture to ensure he wasn't causing her any discomfort, “but, you should still try to eat something.”

She takes a heaving breath, as if she's considering what he has to say–hell, Bucky isn't even sure if she can even _understand_ him. As long as his voice and actions remain calm, maybe he has a chance at earning her trust, although he has a funny feeling she isn't threatened by him; since she easily took him down without breaking a sweat.

He didn't realize that he had completely spaced out until big, puppy-dog-like eyes blink up at him; her gaze curious and Bucky is a deer caught in headlights. He's blown away by her stare, not the tired, sorrowful one when he first saw her. Now, she searches his face for some sort of dishonesty. He hopes she thinks he's as dumb as he looks. Because she'd be right in this case.

Her long fingers graze the lip of the tray and she slowly, _slowly_ pushes it towards him, urging him to have his pick.

And he pushes it back towards her, never breaking the eye contact.

He crosses his arms against his chest defiantly. It might not be 1940 but he's still a gentleman and ladies always get first pick, even when there's not much to chose from.

As if it's a challenge, she moves it to him again and mimics him; folding her arms in front of her, her eyebrow still cocked.

_Seriously, lady? That's how you want to play this? Fine._

He remains in this stern position for minutes. He's gotten terrorists to confess with no more than his deadly stare. If his mere presence is enough to make the world's worst bad guys own up to their shit, he could definitely get this girl to eat a piece of tortilla.

After almost ten minutes into their face-off, she begins to fidget, which is surprising considering she has barely moved for the last few hours. She rolls her big eyes, taking the tray and splits the tortilla in half, then spreads some avocado on it and sends it back to Bucky with what's left.

A victorious smirk is plastered on his face while he stuffs his mouth. She winces every so often but seems to enjoy her small snack. He can't help but wonder when she ate last, judging by her wounds it must have been a couple of days, at least. She's eager when she bites, but slow to chew.

“My name's Bucky.”

He's surprised at his own voice. The silence in the room is cut through and she looks offended that he would do such a thing. Her lips pull into a frown as she watches him through narrowed eyes.

“What's your name?” He quietly begs, shifting on his knees, “Please talk to me, I want to help you get out of here.”

Bucky knows pity well. Since his return, that seems to be the only way anyone looks at him. So seeing her in front of him features distorted by the light, he knows what her look was telling him.

_You're a fool_ , her eyes shift to the floor. It doesn't take a genius to understand her context. _There's no getting out_.

“I know it seems impossible. I've been where you are–” She's confused, but still listens, “My friends are coming for me, but in the meantime, we got to milk these suckers for everything they got. I'm going to figure out what's going on here, I'm going to get us out. But, you _have_ to trust me.”

She finds it hard to meet his stare. They're both stuck here and there's nowhere she can go so she can hide from his relentless eyes. Heaving a sigh, she pats the spot next to her. A silent truths. He all but scrambles to where he was directed. He keeps a respectable distance between them, beaming at the accomplishment.

When Bucky first came back from Wakanda, he couldn't stand closeness. He would flinch at anyone who would step within feet him. Only Steve's touches were allowed, but it was sparse. Now, having permission to be near her gave him something new. Something that had been absent from his life up until he was thrown into this cell.

Bucky had a purpose.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, for now, but stay tuned because A LOT OF SHIT IS ABOUT TO GO DOWN.


	6. 6.

The next three days were uneventful.

Bucky doesn't have much to do other than stare at the door, or the wall, or out the small window. He tried to break the bars again. _Tried_. This time he managed to land on his feet, which earned him an impressed grin from his cellmate.

He did his best to get the girl to speak. Between his endless list of rhetorical questions and strange antics _like continuously trying to break through bars that clearly were made to withstand idiocy like his_ , she remained silent; although she did throw him some concerned and curious glances every once in a while. Especially when he whined for nearly an hour straight about how their captors could of _at least_ gave them a deck of cards.

Occasionally she'd pace around the room, her fingers tracing the grooves of the bricks. She would stretch and Bucky tried to not focus on how the black shirt seemed so big on her until she reached her arms up, curving her back and a flash of skin would peek out from underneath.

He mentally kicked himself. Sure, she was a beautiful girl, but that gave him no right to ogle at her like she was some type of exotic animal. When she caught him staring, she flicked her eyebrow up at him in return. He could practically hear a snarky, 'what?' and he knew Nat would get along great with her.

They stared, ate, and slept in silence.

He never thought a day would come where he was sick of taking naps, but luckily he was graced with perpetual tiredness.

On his fourth night, he was gently pulled out of his sleep by a gentle sound.

Being held captive should've jostled up his nightmares again, making him relive everything that happened, but surprisingly he was getting the best sleep he's had in years. Besides the floor being awfully uncomfortable and finally feeling his ripe age when his bones would crack, Bucky could get used to the undisturbed nights. So it was unusual for him to wake in the middle of the night.

The light bulb was off, which was usual. It was kept on long enough for them to eat in the dull light and then they would be snapped back into the darkness. He tried to recognize the sound before moving, having to clarify if it was dangerous or not. A quiet hum could be anything: a weapon, a quin-jet, an iron suit.

Bucky peaked an eye open to search for her, annoyed with himself for falling asleep in the opposite direction, but his assassin senses told him that she was near since he had grown accustomed to the sound of her bare feet sliding along the concrete. He turned to his other side as quietly as possible and that's when he saw her.

The full moonlight poured into their cell, turning everything a soft blue, the humidity cooled and for a moment, he forgot what country he was in or that he was a prisoner. The girl was underneath the window, her chin pointed up towards it as she hummed peacefully, she held her middle as she swayed softly.

The sounds of the jungle grew louder as if it was orchestrating for her, the beetles and bugs chirping in harmony. Did she do this every night? His eyelids were heavy as he watched her move, spinning herself, eyes closed, face serene as she danced in the astral light. He was in a trance, his body so relaxed it didn't dare move. Her loose tee flowed along her thighs. She could make any ratty shirt look like silk.

Then she was looking at him over her shoulder, a playful glint in her eye and a shy smile on her pink lips. Here: soaked in a blue hue; she is the happiest he's ever seen her. As she hums, his chest reverberated the sound, making his heart thump to her beat. He returns the small smile as his body vibrates like white noise and he slowly, _slowly_ fell asleep.

 

 

 

That was until he was woken up by a violent shake.

He snorted loudly, eyes shooting open to see her staring just as wildly back at him.

“What is it? What's going on?” His voice broke at the dreaded look on her face. The peace from the night before was completely gone. Was it all just a dream?

She motioned for him to stay put, moving in between him and the door as the locks started to unlatch. Bucky stood, trying to pull her back by her wrist, only to have her rip her arm out of his grasp. She gave him a pleading look, eyebrows curved in concern and golden brown eyes watery.

_Please_. _Stay back._

The slow creak was enough to make her breath hitch and Bucky couldn't help but do the same. This was different than when Rowdy and Ransom came, she was on edge, but not fearful. Not like now, her skin was covered in goosebumps, her body posture panicked.

Out of the shadows stood a man, tall and broad. His skin was so pale he could see the dark lavender veins run across his skin like scattered roads on a map. His raven hair sat perfectly combed as his matching eyes roamed the girl's body possessively– licking his thin lips like he was drooling over a steak. He was clad in a dark velvet suit that had Bucky sweating by the very sight of it.

Bucky was a hard man to intimidate.

He's been shot at by Nazis, brainwashed by Hydra, fought Captain America, The Black Panther, then Iron Man all within a couple of days. He lived as The Winter Soldier for fifty damn years. He's assassinated, maimed, and injured countless times, but there was something about this man that made his stomach quiver in disgust. He looked hell-bound; ghost-like and damned.

“Good morning, darling– ” His voice was deep, demonic, “Did you miss me?” He took a step towards her, his glossy black shoes squeaking loudly as he did, “I heard what those barbarians did to that pretty mouth of yours. Why I ever leave them in charge, I'll never know. I hope you can forgive me,” His long finger slid down her cheek and Bucky felt how repulsed she is, but she doesn't flinch, doesn't breathe.

“But, if you would just follow the rules, my love, they wouldn't lay a hand on you. I don't agree with them hurting you, but you have to understand that your actions have consequences. We've had this talk over and over, I was hoping after all this time you'd understand.” The back of his hand traced down her arm and places a wet kiss across her knuckles. Her hand drops to her side like dead weight, her knuckles turning white as she clawed her own palm.

“Oh look– ” He steps around her, only now noticing Bucky's presence, “You got yourself a roommate. How rude of me,” He sticks his palm out, “I'm Tristan Emiliano. It's a pleasure.”

The girl stares Bucky down from over Tristan's shoulder, slowly shaking her head.

_Don't let him touch you._

“A pleasure?” Bucky scoffs, watching as Tristan's expression remains polite, listening patiently, “I've been held here against my will for five days, so cut the shit and tell me what's going on.”

The corner of Tristan's mouth twitches slightly before exposing a full set of pearly-white teeth, perfectly aligned in a dangerous smile that doesn't meet his pitch black eyes, “I'm so sorry to hear that Mr. Barnes. Unfortunately, I was away on business during your arrest and I had no– ”

“Arrest? I don't remember being read my rights or getting my phone call.” Bucky spits through gritted teeth.

“Well, trespassing is an offense.” Tristan deadpans.

“I'm being held here for trespassing?” Bucky barks a hollow laugh, he flicks his head in the girl's direction, “Let me guess why she's here. Vandalism?”

Tristan joins in the laughter, “She... serves a different purpose. One you will soon come to understand,” He turns towards the girl and she flinches at the movement. Her eyes flicker from one man to the other as she gulps. He shouts for the guards as they come running into the room, weapons ready and aimed at the girl.

Bucky's heart tore as he watched her slowly get down to her knees, her wrists held up towards Rowdy. He slapped on high-security arm brackets, much like the ones they used on Bucky when he was captured by War Machine, picked her up by her biceps and motioned her forward with his rifle.

“Come on, now girly,” Rowdy laughed as she struggled to carry her heavy arms, “it's time for a hoedown!”

Tristan motioned for Ransom to obtain Bucky, the man quickly stood to his right, speaking low enough for Bucky to hear, “Behave soldier and you won't lose your other arm.”

Bucky followed, his eyes remaining on the girl several feet in front of him. He tries to take inventory of his surroundings, how many turns they're taking, the long, narrow hallways where they pass guard after guard and the occasional scientist clad in a white coat. He can't bring himself to divert the attention away from her for too long, afraid that one of Tristan's goons might get a little trigger-happy. Her head is down as she struggles to walk with Rowdy right on her heels. She looks so small and helpless and Bucky wants to strangle every last person in here.

Where they were headed to made Bucky's head spin. Was she some type of sex slave toyed off to the highest bitter of the night? Were they going to hold her down as they experimented on her? Poking and probing her skin with God-knows-what? Were they going to put her in the chair? 

His stomach turned over at the thought of it. His companion of the last five days: tortured. Screaming. Bleeding. He watched her trip over her own feet, Rowdy was quick to push her forward, barely giving her time to balance herself. All three men laughed at her as she almost fell to her knees, but she straightened herself up none the less; took a heaving breath and continued her march. Seeing her be mocked only made Bucky want to rupture everyone's organs even more. He hoped she could hear his every thought, every promise.

_I'm not gonna let anything happen to you._

A variety of loud noises echoed through the halls as they stopped in front of another set of high-security metal doors. Tristan bent down to her ear, her eyes blank as she stared past him, past the guards, into nothing. Refusing to let his breath on her temple affect her in any way. Bucky focused on the exchange, trying his hardest to reach through the noise and listen. 

“Do just as good as last time, princess, and you'll get another reward,” He presses a chaste kiss to her forehead as if he was blessing her.

Before the door shuts Bucky catches her glance and he knows she's trying to reassure him. Bucky offered Steve many of the same kind of smiles back in the forties. Comforting and kind. Rowdy pushes her harsher with his gun and her soft features are gone with a slam of the door.

“Wait–” Bucky reaches for her but a sharp blade dug into his shoulder just enough to make a little bit of blood leak, Tristan flicked an impatient eyebrow in his direction. Bucky could hear his blood pumping through his ears, his heart hammering with worry. He promised her safety and now he was stuck between a blade and a door. 

“Come, Mr. Barnes,” He said with an annoyed tone, “I'll show you where she's gone.”

 


	7. 7.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a change of perspective, mentions of non-consent, blood, and violence.

Rowdy unlatched her arm brackets with little grace.

She always let him, knowing that the fight wasn't worth the consequence. He was rough in his every action, but more so towards her. She'd almost prefer if Ransom led her, at least he wouldn't taunt her, laugh at her misery. Lots of agents have come and gone during her time, but Rowdy was the first one that truly _loathed_ her.

She could hear the announcer hype up the crowd, a collection of agents and scientists alike cheering in camaraderie and bloodshed. After all, what else was there to do on this damned island?

Pressing closer to the barred door, she peered around the small arena, her anxiety bubbling to a boil. She'd never get used to this, being used for their sick entertainment. She always tried to avoid Tristan's persistent gaze in the glass booths above the crowd, but this time was different.

Bucky, the unbelievably kind man was with him and as long as he was near Tristan– he wasn't safe.

Rowdy tsked as she sought Bucky out, an amused smile stretching across his lips.

“Missin' your boyfriend, huh?” Rowdy spoke lowly behind her, his breath hitting the back of her neck like a chilled breeze. She closed her eyes, trying to separate herself for him and the prison. Warm sunlight across her face, tree leaves tickling her arms, the ocean holding her safe. Anything to take her away from this Hell.

“You tryna make me jealous, sweet thing?” His callous fingers ran across the back of her thigh, sliding up, up, _up_. “Or are you just playin' hard to get again? You know I hate that game. You always lose.” He slid his finger underneath the spandex of her shorts, snapping it back in place with a hard tug.

Red, hot anger licked up her spine. Her knuckles cracked, each one popping as her hands flexed and twitched, imagining Rowdy's throat crushed in underneath them. Him– gasping for breath in between regrets of every. Single. Thing he did to her. His eyes rolling back until there's nothing of white.

_Tres, dos, uno._

She inhaled deeply. She couldn't allow her thoughts to dwindle in hatred. No matter how many times they disrespect her and her body, she refused to slip into darkness. She will not become like the others.

Rowdy laughed through his nose as the announcer began the usual countdown. He loved this more than a cock-fight. When he bet for the girl, he usually could pack in thousands of dollars in one night. It didn't start out for fun. It was for the sake of science or some other bullshit. Rowdy had been reprimanded a handful of times by Tristan for saying that the battles were for anything else other than methodical study.

The announcer spoke so quickly even the fluent even had trouble understanding what he was saying. The second Rowdy heard her name– well, the name she was given– he grabbed the back of her shirt and shoved her towards the arena before latching the security door in place.

_Sangria_.

The name Tristan gave her. If she ever heard his lips utter even a syllable of her real one she would go insane. He didn't get that part of her. She would only give it to someone who respected her, who it was safe with.

The scientists cheered and the agents hissed, as usual. Agents were not fond of her and she had a couple of guesses why.

Before the fights, the games, Tristan would order agents to battle against her, over and over. They would always give it their all, but little would leave intact, by his demand. He would scream at her, giving her orders from the top of his lungs until his face was red. She'd always listen to him, that was the only thing she could do anymore.

She's blinding briefly by a passing light as the large door on the other side of the arena slowly begins to open, the dust on the ground lifting like smoke as it pulls up. The announcer's microphone squeals for a moment as he begins again.

“ _Now, ladies and gentlemen if you could please give a warm welcome to our new contender. Weighing in at 375 pounds and standing at six feet, eleven inches it's the repulsive, ungodly, Toro del Infierno!_ ”

Two bloodied hoofs stomp slowly, the earth practically shaking from its gait. Her wide eyes trained on the demon legs as they approached her closer, she could see each bulging muscle that protruded from its body. Each step filled her with dread.

She fought to steady her breaths as she slowly glanced up its body, the quivering abdomen, the veiny chest, it's neck wrapped so tightly in a leather collar that its skin spilled out of it, and then his face– a man's face plastered with anger and agony with two heavy horns that pierced out the side of his temples unnaturally. His pain evident in every movement, like breathing alone was too hard on his makeshift body.

_Ungodly is incorrect_ , she thought to herself as she closed the distance a little more between them, intrigued, but horrified, _You are too divine for this world._

Heavy breaths fanned her face as she reached her palms up, a familiar warmth enveloping her. She could fix this, take him out of his misery the correct way, the way she was supposed to. His pitiful eyes scanned her face and she can tell he's unsure. Kindness on this island was more foreign than any language or those who spoke it.

A deafening buzzer goes off and for a moment, the creature doesn't move. It stands, looking down at her like she's lost her mind as her hand inches closer to his chest. However, the moment quickly dissipates when his collar beeps twice, followed by a sharp buzzing sound that makes him scream with pain and fury and everything else that's locked tightly inside of him. He grabs her wrists so tightly she can feel her bones crack under his intense pressure and throws her several feet away. She tumbles along the arena floor, dust and sand kicking up in her eyes as she tries to catch herself.

●○

Bucky looks down in absolute horror at the scene that plays below him. Tristan, on the other hand, stands coolly next to him, sipping casually from a glass of rum to hide a small smile.

“What the fuck is this place,” Bucky whispers as the girl is slammed into the ground again. Toro kicks at her with his hooves while she scrambles as best she can to get out of the way. He makes an impact on the side of her ribs and Bucky gasps, making a move to break the glass with his bare hand to get to her.

Then he remembers that Ransom is close behind with a machete, he remembers that he can only keep her safe if he stays alive.

Tristan laughs as the girl struggles to breathe, blood trickling down the side of her round face, “Calm down, Mr. Barnes, this isn't the worst she's fought. Usually, they're mostly beasts and hardly human. If anything she's lucked out.”

Bucky's eyes flick to Tristan, his sky blue orbs now rolling over with a storm. He reaches for Tristan by the collar without thinking, drags him dangerously close to his snarl, “You're a sadistic piece of shit.”

Ransom shuffles behind him, but Tristan halts him without breaking eye contact with Bucky. Another huff escapes Bucky as he releases Tristan roughly, practically throwing him back. Tristan pushes his gelled hair back and straightens his shirt with a drunken giggle and a hiccup, “Mr. Barnes these practices have been in place long before I ever came to this facility. Now, I'm not one to break from tradition so I thought why not introduce you. Besides, you'll be practicing by her side soon enough. Although I highly doubt you'll need much training, being The Winter Soldier and all.”

Bucky freezes, the girl is heaving on all fours, spitting blood from her mouth. Toro eases off slightly, giving her space to collect herself as he tries to figure out his final blow. Bucky's body is screaming at him, begging him to _help her_. His thoughts are spinning so fast it makes him even more nauseous. After all these years, he fell right back into a trap.

“It was a setup, wasn't it?” Bucky asks numbly, “You're Hydra. You wanted me–for this twisted shit.”

Tristan shook his head, another fit of deep giggles leaving him, “Oh, think of it as an abandoned child if you will. Hydra left this all to my grandfather and he then to me. He was so _passionate_ about hybrids. For instance, flowers, animals, man, machine...” He eyed Bucky's left side before continuing, “His lifes work really, he couldn't just _give_ all that up. So, they let him have it, told him to give them a ring if he came up with anything worthwhile. He would occasionally, but kept some things a secret.” He pointed down towards her.

The girl's on her feet seconds before Toro charges, she jumps out of his stampede and lunges for him; wrapping her arms around his neck as tightly as she can muster with what little strength she's had left from this exhausting fight. He bucks and roars, spinning wildly in circles. She tries, _tries_ to lay her palm flat on his chest, to calm him the best she could. He's too far gone. His heart is stone and his life no longer belongs to him.

She opens her mouth as wildly as she could and sinks her teeth into Toro's neck, through his tough skin, muscles, and nerves. She launches her head back, taking a chunk of him in her mouth as she does. A pained cry rips through the arena as the crowd dawns on silence, by-standing as she rips and tears parts off until his head has barely anything to keep it attached. She falls on top of him as he collapses, dark showers of blood drain her, soaking her to the bone.

The crowd breaks into thunderous applause as the announcer claims her triumph. She spits any remanence of him out, trying to hold back tears and vomit.

Rowdy appears from the door, a prideful smile on his face as he slaps the arm brackets back on. She walks a path all too familiar out of the arena until she's out of sight.

Ransom goes to apprehend a bewildered Bucky, to walk him back to his cell. _Thank God_ she was safe, but now...what kind of danger was he in? He wasn't even sure if he alone could take down the creature she had fought off.

Tristan leans in closely to Bucky's ear, loud enough for only him to hear.

“I didn't want you, Barnes– she did.”

●○

The cell is large and lonely without her there.

He waits for hours, even given his daily meal; which he doesn't touch because they always eat together. He paces the cell, sliding his fingers along the grooves of the wall like he's watched her do hundreds of times.

His chest starts to constrict with grief as dawn nears. Neither she or the guards have shown since his return. Her silence was so _loud_ when she was there, she didn't have to speak because everything about her was so melodic and mellow that she didn't have to make a sound to be known. He _missed_ her company and it had only been hours of separation.

Then the door clicks open, making light pour into the cell and Bucky is on his feet in a second, Ransom orders him to face the wall and not move. He can only obey and _hope_ for her return. He hears two clumsy thumps and then the door is slammed shut once more. He spins around, first noticing the thin bumpy mattress that is closest to him. Then he squints his eyes, the sun is slowly rising behind him and he makes out a hunched over figure by the door entangled in soft hair.

Bucky rushes forward, landing on his knees as he carefully moves the frizz from her face behind her shaking shoulders as quiet hiccups leave her. He's shushing her, comforting her the best way he can. His hand gently cups her cheek, trying to lift her weeping face to meet him. He sweeps a tear away from underneath her eye and she finally,  _finally_  notices him.

Her earthy eyes look between his as she starts to sob. He doesn't know what happened in the hours that she was gone, but she's clean, her hair is half-wet and her skin is light pink from what he can only guess was burning hot water, but other than that she surprisingly appears unharmed. Her lips quiver as she tries to steady herself, she reaches for his wrist as it cradles her.

“B-Bu-Bucky-y,” She cries harder, wrapping her arms around his middle as her tears pour onto his chest. He winces at first, picturing what she had just done hours earlier, but then he relaxes into her hold. He knows what it's like to fight for your life. He rubs her back like how his mother used to when he had awoken from a nightmare. He wished she could still do that for him now and can only hope he's providing the same sense of safety. 

Then the realization hits him- she  _speaking_ to him, albeit broken and wet, but it's clear and golden and he has to bite his cheek to keep the gleeful laugh in his chest from bursting. He holds her back, just as tight, just as meaningful. 

“Yeah, Doll, it's me,” He lulls, “Don't worry, I got you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I actually had to cut this into two parts because the whole thing was stupid long and I didn't want it to be overwhelming. Thanks for taking the time to read! Feedback is appreciated! Have a wonderful day!<3


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